


don't you get that?

by memitims



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2033151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in the end, it was all about choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't you get that?

Once upon a time, Mickey thought he would never get attached to Ian Gallagher.

(Looking back, Mickey realized his old self was damn stupid. He figured that happened sometime before he went to juvie for the first time, with a bullet in his leg and an ache in his heart. He pretended he hadn’t, deflecting Ian’s soft eyes, and his wide smile, and his long fingers stretched out towards Mickey, like Ian could touch him if he tried hard enough, he deflected them with harsh words and half-hidden smiles and he probably wasn’t fooling anybody. Except himself, that is.)

He also never thought he’d care about him, never thought he’d draw his courage from a headstrong boy with sunshine for a smile, never thought he’d let himself be okay and free and fucking happy. But that’s a story for another time.

—-

Ian gets talkative in the middle of the night. Kid’s always talkative, of course, but even more so when his mouth is pressed up against Mickey’s ear, his arms heavy across Mickey’s chest, and Mickey is the perfect captive audience (like Mickey isn’t always listening to Ian, anyways. Mickey listens to all his stupid shit, everything that comes out of that mouth, because he can’t help but just fucking pay attention to Ian).

"Are you awake?" Ian asks, his breath tickling the shell of Mickey’s ear, a warm puff of air that reminds Mickey that he’s safe and loved and fucking sappy as hell, apparently.

"Fucking am now," Mickey says, without any heat. Ian makes a happy little noise, kinda like the one he makes when they kiss just for the hell of it (like this morning, in the yard, when they sat together in the grass behind the swimming pool. Mickey was content with just lying there, enjoying the way the sun beat down hot against their necks and the warmth of Ian next to him, relaxing in the heat of a summer day in a way Mickey had never done before, but then he glanced over at Ian and everything went to shit, because Ian’s eyes were bright in the sun and his lips looked so good, and Mickey was fucking powerless. So, he had ignored the sharp shrieks and splashes of the children in the pool in favor of quickly pressing his mouth to Ian’s, relishing the way Ian sighed and his eyelashes fluttered, and Mickey couldn’t tear his eyes away).

Ian laughs. “Good. Got something to ask you.”

"Oh yeah?" Mickey says, yawning. "Shoulda known. You ask too many fucking questions, Curious George."

Ian doesn’t say anything right away, just swallows a few times, like he’s working up courage, or something, which is stupid, because Mickey knows Ian is fucking brave as anything. He learned that a long time ago (probably when Mickey threatened to cut his hands off if they came anywhere near him when they weren’t fucking, but Ian did it anyways - touched Mickey gently, warm fingers running over his skin, like Mickey wasn’t dirty or terrifying, like he deserved it,- and Mickey gave Ian the scariest look he could muster, and Ian just laughed at him and kept touching Mickey like he was something special).

"When’d you fall in love with me?"

Mickey stills. He hadn’t really been expecting that, Ian asks him dumb questions in the middle of the night all the time, but this one isn’t dumb, this one makes his heart pound and his hands shake and his throat close up. Ian starts tracing patterns on Mickey’s chest, like he didn’t just ask Mickey when his universe started revolving around Ian Gallagher, the boy in his bed, the boy that flipped everything upside-down, and Mickey answers the only way he knows how.

"Who the fuck said I fell in love with you?"

"Mickey," Ian says, softly, and oh yeah, Mickey forgot that Ian can see through all his bullshit.

"Well, I didn’t," Mickey says, truthfully. "I didn’t _fall_ in love with you.” He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “I fucking chose to be in love with you.”

It’s Ian’s turn to be quiet. His fingers stop moving across Mickey’s chest, stilling over Mickey’s heart. “What do you mean?” he asks, always with the fucking questions, and Mickey’s fucked anyways, he might as well answer them.

“Not at first, I think,” Mickey answers. “I wasn’t sure what was happening, and before I knew it, I fucking cared about what happened to you. Couldn’t tell you that, though,” he adds, quietly. “Sorry.”

“Yeah,” Ian agrees. “It’s okay.”

(Sometimes, Mickey doesn’t know why Ian puts up with his shit. Doesn’t know why he put up with in the beginning, doesn’t know how they ended up here, because Mickey was harsh, he was fists and blood and sharp words, and he forgot that Ian was breakable and that their hearts were easily bruised. Mickey forgot that he was breakable, too. They had no idea what they were doing, still didn’t, but Mickey knew now that this was exactly where he wanted to be.)

“Then,” Mickey continues, “I just fucking decided. You left and I missed you, _god_ I was so stupid, and I decided to be in love with you because I didn’t want to be with anyone else and I didn’t want you to be with anyone else, and I knew that was the only way to stop you from leaving again, to keep you forever. So yeah, I’m fucking in love with you.” His voice is quiet, real quiet, cutting softly through the darkness, and he’s afraid to turn around and look at Ian’s face, because then he might say even more stupid things, and Ian’s hands are still brushing tenderly over his heart. “Fuck.”

Ian doesn’t say anything back, he just buries his head in the back of Mickey’s neck, pressing a couple of soft kisses into his skin. Mickey’s eyes start drooping, because emotions are fucking exhausting, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

\---

The Gallagher house is annoyingly, perpetually, loud.

Mickey and Ian wake up late, which means they wake up to the high-pitched shrieks of children. Debbie’s daycare is going strong this summer.

“Fuck this,” Mickey grumbles, and Ian rubs a sleepy hand through his hair, slowly untangling himself from Mickey. Ian laughs and pushes Mickey out of bed, following behind him as they stumble down the stairs.

Fiona is making breakfast when they get downstairs, Debbie’s corralling the herd of kids, and Carl, surprisingly, looks like he’s doing his homework on the kitchen counter. Lip’s probably dealing with Liam upstairs, and even fuckin’ Mandy is here, her arms crossed as she stands next to Debbie and stares down at a couple of misbehaving kids. Mickey would be terrified, if he was them.

No one really notices when Ian and Mickey grab some breakfast and sit down, which is exactly the way Mickey likes it. It’s so different, so much fucking better than the way he grew up, because there’s hot food, and people that care about each other, and his sister is smiling, and there’s Ian.

Ian leans in close, pressing his hand into Mickey’s shoulder. “Wanna go to the dugout tonight?” he whispers, and Mickey is hit with a sudden, unreal, bout of nostalgia that makes him want to cry and smile at the same time. He nods, and Ian goes back to his breakfast, satisfied, completely unaware of the way Mickey’s heart is pounding hard in his chest, because he loves this kid so fucking much.

Mickey thinks about everything he’s lost and gained since the last time they fooled around there. He thinks about the way he chose Ian, and the way Ian chose him. He looks around him and thinks about his new family, for lack of a better word, and the way they’re fucking noisy, and big, and accept Mickey with no questions asked. This is the one he made, the one he made to escape the one he was born into, and he fucking chose them too.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Ian asks, breaking Mickey out of his thoughts.

  
“Nothing,” Mickey says, because it’s hard to talk about these things in the daylight, when Ian isn’t a warm presence at his back, but he’ll probably tell him about it eventually. He closes his hand over Ian’s under the table. Ian smiles at him, bright in the late-morning sun, and Mickey knows he made the right choice in all of this.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](http://somethingbeyond.tumblr.com/post/35517516485) quote~


End file.
